


"I figured it was just implied."

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Prompt Fic, Revelations, Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age), Tumblr Prompt, distinctly non-religious hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: Wherein everyone (Hawke included) realizes Varric's been skipping some, uh...important parts of the Kirkwall story. Namely, the parts about the two of THEM. Everything comes to light eventually, though, so there's only one thing to do about it...A little re-imagining of a scene in Inquisition.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	"I figured it was just implied."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigasswritingmagnet (thekumquat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/gifts).



> Written as part of a prompt on tumblr! As a quick reminder, if you're interested in my shorter (i.e., prompt/ask-based) writing pieces, you can find me as queenofbaws on tumblr ;P

Back in Kirkwall, when people accused Hawke of having impeccable timing, it was usually said with a heaping helping of sarcasm. “Ah, right on time!” they’d say, gesturing to the rubble steaming behind them, or maybe the pile of carcasses amassed by whatever faction was feeling particularly feisty that week, “Like Andraste sent you, Herself!”

But Hawke was not _in_ Kirkwall just then, and while she couldn’t claim to have been sent on the behalf of Her Most Holy Toastiness, the Inquisitor sure could. Maybe it was some combination of those two circumstances that explained how they managed to find themselves at the armory _just_ as Cassandra was preparing to choke the life out of Varric. Maybe it was just dumb luck.

Either way, their friendly walk through Skyhold’s courtyard had been thoroughly ruined.

Now, Hawke was a woman who could admit to her own shortcomings, so she knew that, at times, she could _maybe_ rush into altercations that could’ve otherwise been avoided, had she taken a moment to get a better read on the situation. Perhaps. _Occasionally_. And yes, she had been meaning to really settle down and work on that particular behavioral quirk…but the whole ‘being on the run’ thing hadn’t turned out to be the most conducive environment for self-improvement.

So that was _probably_ why she’d done what she’d done (namely, kicking a nearby chair into the Seeker’s shins, shocking her into turning from Varric _just_ long enough for Hawke to draw her steel and slip bodily between them, one foot firmly on the ground, the other atop the chair itself, ready to support her weight, should she find the need to attack from higher ground).

It was _definitely_ why the Inquisitor was yelling, though. She didn’t need to be an augur to figure out that much. She wasn’t really _listening_ to what the Inquisitor was saying, but she assumed it to be the usual: _Stop, stop! What’s wrong with you all? Stop!_ Kirkwall or not, some things never changed. But no, her focus was fully on the Seeker, on the weight of the dagger in her hand, on the familiar corkscrew tension in her muscles as she primed herself for a blow.

“Hawke. _Hawke_ , you aren’t _helping!_ ”

“I think you’ll find I rarely _do_ , Inquisitor.” She said it cheerfully enough, but waited a beat before moving. She held Cassandra’s gaze, unblinking, then smiled a worrying little smile and sheathed her dagger— _after_ giving it a curt showman’s toss and snatching it out of the air. With all the energy she’d been saving up for a lunge, she kicked the chair out of the way again, sending it toppling end-over-end until it harmlessly clattered against the wall nearest them. “The whole ‘Champion’ title was really more for show than anything else.”

Cassandra, for her part, didn’t seem to be the sort willing to engage with her repartee, instead turning herself more fully to the Inquisitor, picking up where she and Varric had ostensibly left off. “Varric is a _liar,_ Inquisitor! He _knew!_ He _knew_ where Hawke was all this time and—”

“You’re damned right I did!”

“You conniving little—”

“ _Enough!_ ” The Inquisitor stepped forward, the picture of divine intervention, and Hawke took the opportunity to saunter past the table Varric had managed to get between himself and Cassandra.

It took every iota of her (admittedly lacking) self-restraint to keep from perching herself atop said table to form a second, albeit melodramatic, barrier. She had the image in her head already, how she’d let one leg swing like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth, imitating the swish of a cat’s tail just before it pounced…but short as her stay had been, she had quickly come to realize that the Inquisition wasn’t half as keen on showmanship and artful posturing as the Coterie or Carta had been.

Such a shame.

So she just made her way to Varric’s side of the barrier, arms folded tightly across her chest as she watched the argument unfold.

“You’re taking _his_ side in this?! After everyth—”

“You _kidnapped_ me! _Interrogated_ me! You thought I would just—”

“I said _enough!_ ”

She’d give it to the Inquisitor…the woman knew how to yell. It was among the talents Hawke held in the highest esteem.

Cassandra was all fire and fury as she whirled around, her indignation so palpable it all but fogged the air around them. “We _needed_ someone to lead the Inquisition. We searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then, we looked for _Hawke_ , but she was gone, too—”

Hawke’s eyes widened almost comically at the insinuation. “Oh, I hope you aren’t suggesting you were hoping _I_ would fill that role. I don’t _lead_ people—I stab things and make witty remarks about the noises the stabbing makes.”

If she heard her, she paid her no mind, still angrily soldiering on, “We thought it was all _connected_. But no. It was just _Varric_.” She turned her furious gaze from the Inquisitor back to him, upper lip curling into a snarl, “All along, it was _just you!_ ”

To his credit, Varric seemed just as irate, and that in itself was something of a surprise to Hawke; she could count on both hands how many times she’d seen him that angry, and most of those instances had been caused by Bartrand. “The Inquisition _has_ a leader,” he gestured curtly to the Inquisitor as he said it.

“Hawke would’ve been at the Conclave!”

Eugh. She grimaced at the thought, pulling her arms more tightly into herself. _There_ was an image. There she would’ve been, shining bright in her full Champion’s regalia, standing in front of a whole lot of people who very likely would’ve wanted her head on a pike for a whole _slew_ of fun and interesting reasons, and the Seeker thought…what? That she would’ve talked _sense_ into them? Ah yes, Marian Hawke, so highly regarded for her level temper and eloquent speaking skills and general ability to play nice with others. Oh, they would’ve had _such_ fun.

“If _anyone_ could’ve saved Most Holy—”

At that, she visibly reacted, staring at Cassandra with obvious disbelief. For someone who claimed to be so, uh, _informed_ about her character as a person, the Seeker sure seemed to have missed a few important narrative arcs. She met Varric’s gaze with wide-eyed surprise, murmuring in a voice that wouldn’t have been _nearly_ quiet enough for the others to miss, had they not been so absorbed in the conflict, “I wouldn’t have saved her.”

The look he shot back at her was one she knew well, even after all their time apart. _Yeah, I know that, you know that, we_ all _know that,_ his eyes said, and that was all well and good, except it was clear that they did _not_ all know that. Cassandra seemed fairly convinced that Hawke would’ve hoisted Justinia up by her shining robes and carried her out of the Temple of Sacred Ashes on her back, if that was what it had taken.

“Cassandra, Varric isn’t responsible for what happened at the Conclave,” the Inquisitor said, fingers pressing against her temple to stave off what Hawke was sure was promising to be a hell of a headache.

No doubt relieved that the tides were turning in his favor, Varric snapped right back, “I was protecting—”

“Your friend, yes, we _know_ , Varric, we _know_.” Cassandra favored Hawke with a brief, heated glare before turning her attention back to him, chopping her hand impatiently through the air. “You’ve made it very clear—”

He fixed the Seeker with a look Hawke couldn’t quite parse, and _that_ was when she knew _something_ was about to happen. She steeled herself.

“—my wife,” Varric finished coolly, acting as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

Oho!

Oh.

_Oh?_

She didn’t turn, didn’t react, just kept herself as calm and neutral as she was able, watching confusion fly across the faces of the other two before understanding blossomed. And how _beautifully_ it blossomed, at that! The Inquisitor seemed surprised, sure, but Cassandra was positively gobsmacked, every whit of anger, of rage, of righteous Andrastian fury draining out of her, only to be replaced with unadulterated _shock_. Her gaze absolutely _flew_ to Hawke, then to Varric, then back to Hawke again, her mouth open in a small ‘o’ of alarm.

Hawke wanted to laugh.

Maker, she wanted to laugh.

“Your… _wife?_ ” Cassandra repeated slowly, each vowel stressed as though she was worried she’d mangle the words.

“I’m going to go ahead and assume _that_ didn’t come out during the interrogation process,” Hawke said airily.

“No,” Cassandra answered flatly, once she had succeeded in forcing her face back into a scowl. “I should say it did not.” Her voice was commanding despite the way her eyes kept flicking between the two of them. Hawke had an inkling she was searching their faces for some hint of deception, of humor, of making a joke at her expense—if that was the case, the Seeker was welcome to seek to her heart’s content. She could look sunrise to sundown…she wasn’t going to find _any_ of that.

Standing arms akimbo, she momentarily looked to Varric. “Skipped a few parts, did you?”

“Only the ones about us.”

“ _Only?_ ” she pretended to be agog; neither Cassandra nor the Inquisitor seemed to find it as funny as she did, however. Hawke turned back to them, favoring Cassandra with a self-satisfied half-smile. Lowering her voice into a theatrical whisper, she clarified, “Those constitute a _lot_ of parts, you understand.”

“ _Ugh_.” Turning away from the rest of them, Cassandra shook her head. “I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake…” She muttered it more to herself than any of them, and Hawke found herself wondering how much of her sudden reticence was from surprise and how much was from some sense of disappointment. In one fell swoop, whatever story Varric had woven, whatever story she’d come to believe, well it had all just been undone.

She’d _hate_ to see how the Seeker would react to hearing the truth about how she’d defeated the Arishok in single combat. Maker, she _still_ got tired when thinking about all those circles she’d run.

“Go,” she continued, tone leaving little room for argument, “Just…go.”

Neither of them needed to be told twice. Hawke met Varric’s gaze and shrugged, nodding her head once towards the Inquisitor in acknowledgement before staring back down the stairs she’d rushed up only a few minutes ago. She made her way down to the main floor again, pausing only briefly when Varric stopped behind her.

“Know what _I_ think?” she heard him ask; she didn’t turn around to face him, though, just stood near the base of the staircase and waited. “If Hawke had been at the Temple, she’d be dead, too.”

She bobbled her head contemplatively…and then nodded in silent agreement. It was a safe bet. One way or another, had it been Corypheus, his followers, or just an angry mob who’d seen what had transpired in Kirkwall, she didn’t like her chances.

“You people have done _enough_ to her.”

Her eyebrows popped up at _that_ chestnut. Not exactly the sort of language that would endear him to the Inquisition’s number.

But language that endeared him even more to _her_ , if such a thing were even possible.

Hawke waited at the bottom of the stairs until Varric reached her, and then wordlessly, almost casually, they simply…left. They walked out of the armory and into the sunshine of the courtyard, a few passersby offering them sidelong glances that seemed to suggest they’d heard _some,_ if not all, of the yelling. The ones who let their eyes linger for too long received girlish little finger-waves from Hawke. Again, Kirkwall or not, some things never changed.

Her nighttime wanderings had given her a fairly decent idea of Skyhold’s layout, but she let Varric lead her wherever it was he intended on going, keeping her head tilted back so she could feel the sun on her face as they walked.

By the time they’d trekked halfway across the keep, she thought she could feel the worst of his frustration tapering off…and so she finally spoke up.

“Your _wife_ , hmm?” Hawke let her eyebrows rise and fall, folding her arms across her chest, “Certainly wish someone would’ve told _me_ about that…”

There was a beat, and she realized with a surge of something like glee that she’d done the unimaginable: She’d rendered Varric Tethras speechless. “ _Hawke_ …”

She waved him off dismissively, “Nonono, never you mind about that. I just have a few brief questions about the wedding itself. Namely, what were our colors? Red, probably. Gold? I’d imagine red and gold…scratch that question, I’ve answered it myself, I think. Hmmm…oh, was the food any good? Wait, no, no, I’m sure it would’ve been a Hanged Man affair, so while there was _plenty_ of food, none of it was even _close_ to palatable. Someone could’ve pissed in a keg and no one would’ve realized. Hmm…wait. Wait! _Where_ were we married? Because best as _I_ remember…” her voice dropped into a feigned hiss of embarrassment, “There wasn’t much of a Chantry _left_ , by the time the dust settled…”

Varric groaned.

“Ah, never mind, it was on Bela’s ship, wasn’t it? I don’t know why I even asked… _obviously_ that’s where it happened. And I’ll bet we were assaulted by pirates in the middle of it—” She sprung a few steps ahead of him, striking up a fencer’s stance when she landed, pretending as though she was holding a rapier against the throat of some unseen scallywag. “—Isabela had to carry out the rites as any good captain would. Between…each…decapitation.” Hawke punctuated each word with a swipe of her invisible blade. When she was sure he was looking at her, she pretended to sheathe it at her hip. Varric had stopped walking, she noticed then, and was just _watching her_ with his eyebrows drawn upwards and together, arms folded. She smiled sweetly. “What?”

She could tell he was trying not to react in any particular way—much as she, herself, had, up in the armory when he’d made the statement causing all the fuss—and that was absolutely _tickling_ her. “Could you _maybe_ take this seriously?”

“I _am_ taking it seriously! You just don’t understand, this is harder than I thought it would be! I—oh! Did Aveline cry? She—no, no wait…she did. Of course she did. Big, ugly, wracking sobs, I’ll wager. Face just _dripping_. Did I take your name, or did you take mine?” She narrowed her eyes then gasped, clapping her hands to her cheeks, “Or did we _hyphenate?_ ”

There was almost a smile that time, but she thought…ah, yes, there was some anxiety in there, too. Excellent. Excellent! It wasn’t often she managed to chip through that pokerface of his, and yet, there they were. “ _Hawke._ ”

“Humor me, would you? It’s such a big day in a girl’s life, you know? So many things occur to me. _Oh!_ Oh, no I have it.” Her lips curled upwards into an asymmetrical smirk, “Did _Fenris_ cry? He did, didn’t he?” When Varric’s only response was a long-suffering look, she heaved a theatrical sigh, “Well then, will you _at least_ tell me what our _vows_ were? What am I supposed to wax poetically about on those long, cold nights when we’re both off at war?”

He took a deep breath in before reaching up to scrub at his face with a hand. “Hawke—”

“Mmmyes?” She fluttered her eyelashes as coyly as her body would let her, which, admittedly, was not terribly much at all.

“This…none of this is how I imagined this…going.” He said it with the weight of a great admission, letting his arm fall back to his side.

“Imagined _what_ going?”

The saccharine innocence of her voice earned her another exasperated look. She knew _that_ expression, too: _Work with me here_ , it begged, _Give me_ something _, Hawke_.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Pressing a hand primly to her chest, Hawke feigned surprise. “Are you waiting for some sort of answer to some sort of question? I would _love_ to give you an answer, Varric, truly I would, however…the tricky thing is, I don’t actually recall you _asking_ me _anything_.” She looked away and furrowed her brow, blinking rapidly to show that her concentration was joking at best, “No…no, see, no matter how hard I think back on it, it seems…yes, it seems as though you sort of just… _yelled_ words at the Seeker until she stopped talking. Now, it was a very _interesting_ combination of words, I’ll give you that…” She snickered, crossing the short space between them to stand just in front of him, mirroring his posture perfectly. “ _Are_ you asking me something, Varric?” She let her usual veneer of aloof amusement drop, if only for a moment, voice going soft and serious and damn, just a bit _hopeful_ , if she was being honest with herself.

A moment passed between them, then, difficult to describe but easy enough to understand, the weight of everything that past few years had brought suddenly standing out in perfect clarity, the reality of the looming danger acting as a terrible counterweight to hopes and plans that they’d always just assumed they would have time for later, later, later.

“…maybe I am,” Varric said, blinking as though he’d surprised _himself_ , that time around. Then, more resolved, “Maybe I _am_.”

Hawke answered.


End file.
